Maybe the drugs aren't that bad at all
by K.M Dawson
Summary: A fic about what happens when Sherlock is found in a massively drugged state, and John finds him, and nurses him back to health. pining towards John/Sherlock. as they say, loose lips sink ships! rated t for drug usage
1. plate full of ashes

_**A/N: This is my first Sherlock fic! I hope you all like it! Feel free to fave and review, it all helps! **_

Empty. That's what the flat feels like when he walked up the stairs and into the kitchen. No experiments brewing on the table, no estranged mutterings tangled with mild profanities and no bloody violin. John Watson, an ex-army Doctor, shared this place with the worlds only consulting detective, the great Sherlock Holmes. Normally, John would assume the silence was from the lack of his flatmates presence, but not today. No, today something felt different.

Slowly John walked to the living room, not even bothering to put away the shopping. The skull- that blasted skull- had been moved from its usual perch on the mantelpiece, to occupy John's chair. So Sherlock actually noticed his absence, unlike so many times when John would be gone for days un-noticed. John proceeded to shuffle around some papers and things until he found what he was looking for. An ashtray, filled to the brim with cigarette butts, smoked all the way down to the filters. _He promised _John though to himself._ He promised me that he would quit!_ That's when John heard it. The sound that will haunt him the rest of his life.

"John." It was little more that a groan, barely audible from where John stood. It was not the moan that sent the doctor running, but the tremendous crash that followed. He raced down the hall to Sherlock's room, flung open the door- and gasped in shock!


	2. The way I do

_A/N: I do not own any of the characters from this fic, nor do i get paid to do it, these characters belong to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and BBC. i also no not own the lyrics written below, they belong to starkid productions and DarrenCcriss. please send in those reviews, and feel free to favorite or subscribe._

"John." It was little more that a groan, barely audible from where John stood. It was not the moan that sent the doctor running, but the tremendous crash that followed. He raced down the hall to Sherlock's room, flung open the door- and gasped in shock!

* * *

"Sherlock!" bellowed John, rushing to his friend's side, dropping the shopping bags, sending milk and eggs all over the floor. At first glance, it looked like the man had simply fallen out of bed. But John knew better, he was a doctor. He knew what drug can do to a person, particularly his flatmate. Sherlock was sprawled on his back on the floor, arms and legs spread apart. He looked like he might be making a snow angel. His hair was plastered to his sweat covered forehead, and fanned out on the floor around him like a halo. "Sherlock, please, if you can hear me, open your eyes." Nothing, not even the slightest flutter of lashes upon the soft, pale skin. John quickly whipped his mobile out of his pocket and dialled the first of two numbers.

"_**999 what's your emergency?" **_

"_Yes, my name is John Watson and my roommate seems to have overdosed on some sort of drug, please send an ambulance to 221B Baker st. make sure it has a stomach pump and plenty of cold compresses." _

"_**Okay, make sure you stay with the subject, and try to keep his or her head elevated. Help is on the way."**_

The second number dialled was to DI Lestrade.

"_Greg I need you here with the team. And I need you to search the place."_

"**what's going on John?"**

"_It's Sherlock, either he's been drugged by someone, or he did it himself, I need to know what he took. Lestrade, he overdosed, he looks dead, please please please help me, help him_…. John had no clue when the tears started, but there they were hot and wet, and full of the fear and dread that he held in his heart.

He reached over and grabbed Sherlock under his arms and hoisted him onto the bed. Normally, this wouldn't be so hard, since the younger man was so slight in weight, but all the dead weight made it harder then it should have been. John hesitated before walking quickly to the bathroom to wet a towel for Sherlock. When he got back to the room, he didn't think twice before clambering into the bed with the detective, propping him up gently, so his head rested on the doctors chest. John wrapped his arm around Sherlock and pressed the cloth on Sherlock's forehead, hoping to bring to color back to the man, who was getting paler by the minute. The hand that was free of cloth, was aimlessly drawing patterns on the unconscious mans hand.

Softly he began to sing:

'_When they say you can't love  
I think you've got it wrong  
They say you can't feel  
With a heart made of steel  
But you can't say that steel ain't strong'_

John almost laughed at the accuracy of the song, knowing full well what others said about Sherlock. He planted a soft kiss upon matted curls and continued:

'_Well if that's who you are,  
Just a meaningless star in the sky  
Tell me what is the meaning  
Of what I am feeling if you are the reason why'_

John could hear the sirens off in the distance, and he prayed that they would get here soon.

_Now I may be dumb  
But where I come from  
Folks say they're fine  
When I know that they're blue_

But you don't know you the way I do


	3. Lost within myself

A/N: i hope you like this chapter, i had a i don't want to say fun, but it kinda was. please send in those reviews!_I do not own any of the characters from this fic, nor do i get paid to do it, these characters belong to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and BBC. i also no not own the lyrics written below, they belong to starkid productions and Darren Criss_

* * *

'_When they say you can't love  
I think you've got it wrong  
They say you can't feel  
With a heart made of steel  
But you can't say that steel ain't strong'_

John almost laughed at the accuracy of the song, knowing full well what others said about Sherlock. He planted a soft kiss upon matted curls and continued:

'_Well if that's who you are,  
Just a meaningless star in the sky  
Tell me what is the meaning  
Of what I am feeling if you are the reason why'_

John could hear the sirens off in the distance, and he prayed that they would get here soon.

_Now I may be dumb  
But where I come from  
Folks say they're fine  
When I know that they're blue_

_But you don't know you the way I do_

* * *

Even through the haze of his mind, Sherlock registered the sound of John's voice. The thought that John would be singing to him, for him was enough to warm the young mans heart. _John, my John, singing me a song! _Sherlock thought to himself. _Wait, that's not right, John is __**not **__mine…. But I want him to be. _Sherlock fought with the thickness, and tried to focus on the words that his precious John was crooning.

"_You don't know you, the way I do."_

John stopped singing and looked down at Sherlock's face. He seemed so calm, so serene, unlike almost every other time John had seen him. The doctor had no clue what was going on in the detective's mind (it's not like he did any other time). John may have stopped singing, but what he didn't know, was that inside his mind, Sherlock was continuing the song.

_You're a sorry disgrace  
To the concept of race  
And to logical science and law_

The voice in Sherlock's mind became even softer before beginning the next few lines.

_But for some reason why  
When you look at me I don't wanna be  
Programmed this way  
Believe when I say you're the one anomaly_

You might not be smart  
But there is a part  
Of me that's starting  
To make a breakthrough

No you don't know you the way I do

Sherlock was lost within himself, trying so hard to find a way to let John that he was okay, that everything was going to be okay. But it wasn't, he was dying and he knew it. His lungs and heart were starting to deteriorate. He willed himself to open his eyes, just so he could see his John one last time. And he did. His eyes slowly slid open, and he was unprepared to see John slumped over his chest, sobbing.

"_John…?"_ The voice that came out of him, was not the usual silky tone that he always had, but raspy and broken.

John lifted his head in bewilderment. He was sure that his mind was playing a cruel joke on him. He forced himself to look at Sherlock- and red-rimmed grey eyes met the steely-but glassed-over eyes of the younger man. _"Sherlock!" _John exclaimed.

"_John I—"_ Sherlock's words were cut short by the searing pain in his chest. The small smile that had formed, slowly slid off his face, as everything went to black once more.


	4. tongue tied

_A/N: I'm terribly sorry for both the length and the timing. i tried to get it done sooner, but i simply haven't had the time. as always, thanks to the readers, new and old. please send in the reviews and the favs! I do not own any of the characters from this fic, nor do i get paid to do it, these characters belong to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and BBC._

* * *

"_John I—"_ Sherlock's words were cut short by the searing pain in his chest. The small smile that had formed, slowly slid off his face, as everything went to black once more.

* * *

John instantly knew that something was wrong when that smile faded. He lurched forward, and prodded Sherlock's neck, searching for any sign of life. The sirens were almost deafening, finally reaching the flat, but time was up. John refused to give up. He shoved his sleeves as high as they would go up his arms, and began to perform CPR, crushing his flatmates chest with his compressions. John crushed his lips to Sherlock's, forcing air into the unconscious mans lungs, and trying to start the now silent heart.

"_Sherlock, please, please, come back to me, I need you… I love you… come back… please. Think of Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade _(who was now running up the stairs with the medics.) _ Think of Molly, damn it Sherlock, think of me. I love you, I need you, I can't live without you." _

At this point the tears were flowing freely and unchecked down John's face, and he really didn't care. He didn't care that everyone heard what he was saying, he didn't care about that look on Donavan's face, shocked, but smug all the same. And then there was Lestrade, looking so out of his element, so worried, not only about Sherlock, but John as well. All he could do was watch as calm hands replaced the frantic ones, and Sherlock was loaded onto a stretcher. John never once left his side, not walking down the stairs, not in the ambulance, until he was forced to stay outside of the ER.

* * *

It took 3 hours of running tests, and Sherlock dying twice, to figure out what had happened. John was right, Sherlock was drugged, and they were extremely powerful.

It was unbelievable that Sherlock had even survived a dosage that large. The doctors still had no clue if there would be any long term effects, but they were expected. As soon as he could, John was by Sherlock's side, only leaving to get a coffee and to use the loo. He didn't go home after the first night, it felt so lonely without Sherlock there playing his violin or muttering to himself. John missed him desperately, and told him so all the time. He never passed up an opportunity to hold the young mans hand, or whisper I love you's and sweet nothings. All John wanted was for Sherlock to open his eyes, so he knew that he was heard, so Sherlock knew he was loved.

Finally that time came, 4 days later. Sherlock opened his eyes and said the sweetest words John had ever heard; "_John Watson, I love you too."_


	5. Running jump

**_A/N: I would like to firstly thank everyone who has come back everytime that a new chapter is posted, it makes me very happy to know that maybe you like my writing. the second thing is a question... do you think i should continue on after this, like when they finally go home or not? would that be something you would like to see? if so, or not, drop me a review, or PM, whichever. anywhoo... I do not own any of the characters from this fic, nor do i get paid to do it, these characters belong to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and BBC blah blah blah_**

* * *

All John wanted was for Sherlock to open his eyes, so he knew that he was heard, so Sherlock knew he was loved.

Finally that time came, 4 days later. Sherlock opened his eyes and said the sweetest words John had ever heard; "_John Watson, I love you too."_

* * *

John looked away for a moment, trying to collect his thoughts, and willing his mind to form the words in his mind. When he bought his eyes back to Sherlock, all he could think of, was the younger man unconscious on the floor. He thought of the past few nights, when he couldn't bear to be as far away as a chair at night, that he crawled into bed with Sherlock, being mindful of the wires and tubes protruding from his arms. John blushed at the thought, and he hoped beyond hope that the nurses would never mention it.

"John, I just told you that I love you, the least you could do is say something." Sherlocks voice was barely audible over the beeping machines. "I mean, if you don't feel the same way, please do feel free to tell me, so I don't delude myself into thinking you reciprocate my feelings…" He trailed off, his voice filled with fear and dread that the statement was indeed, true.

"Sherlock…" John paused, looking down at his hands, looking anywhere but the man that just confessed his love.

"It's fine John, I understand. I mean, who would ever love me?" Sherlock's face was set in a mask of calm, but that's all it was, a mask. Inside, his stomach was churning, a lump rising in his throat, and his eyes prickling with tears he refused to let fall.

"Sherlock-that's not-

"No, no, it's fine, I understand. You think of me as your flatmate, friend maybe, but not lover."

John, not knowing what else to do to prove that he did love Sherlock, lept out of his chair, filled the space between the two, and crushed his lips to Sherlocks. Sherlock froze at the sudden contact, but quickly relaxed into the kiss. His lips moulded to John's perfectly, as if they were made to be together. After a few moments of pure bliss, John finally broke the kiss. A small whimper of protest escaped Sherlocks now slightly red and swollen lips.

"Now, what were you saying about me not feeling the same way?" John asked with a smile playing on his lips.


	6. As long as I have you

**_ I do not own any of the characters from this fic, nor do i get paid to do it, these characters belong to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and BBC blah blah blah. well, i'm back, and with a full serving of fluffy goodness! loves to all of you people who have come back to read my drabbles and goings ons! leave me a review if you want! i plan on continuing this but in another story, so keep your eyes out!_**

* * *

John, not knowing what else to do to prove that he did love Sherlock, lept out of his chair, filled the space between the two, and crushed his lips to Sherlocks. Sherlock froze at the sudden contact, but quickly relaxed into the kiss. His lips moulded to John's perfectly, as if they were made to be together. After a few moments of pure bliss, John finally broke the kiss. A small whimper of protest escaped Sherlocks now slightly red and swollen lips.

"Now, what were you saying about me not feeling the same way?" John asked with a smile playing on his lips.

* * *

It took John 2 hours to convince Sherlock to stay in the hospital for another night, just to make sure everything was going to be okay. It happened to take Sherlock 2 hours of stony silence to forgive John for making him stay. Really, Sherlock had forgiven John after about half an hour, but he wanted to be an arse. John did not return to 221B Baker Street that night, but instead opted to stay with Sherlock again. He had planned on sleeping on the little cot the nurses had brought in on the first night, but Sherlock wouldn't have it. He practically ordered John into bed with him. It was difficult to find a comfortable position, as the bed was so small, but they made it work. They wound up laying on their sides, one arm under the pillow, fingers interlaced, and the other resting on the other mans hip.

"John?" whispered Sherlock, the small clocks glowing numbers read 3:34 am. "Are you still awake?"

"mhmm" was johns muffled reply. He was just under the surface, not quite awake, yet not fully asleep. He felt himself slipping back under. The last thing that registered was Sherlock pressing his lips to his temple and whispering; "I love you, John Haymitch Watson."

* * *

"Umm… excuse me sirs?" the nurse seemed flustered at the sight that greeted her when she walked into Sherlocks room around 7am to check his vitals. She cleared her throat again, and when that didn't work, prodded John with her pen. The doctor's eyes flew open at the contact, his scared shoulder now throbbing. "I'm sorry to disturb you, but Dr. Smith has given Mr. Holmes here the all clear, so, if you would like you head home, feel free to do so at any time. Here are all of your… partners paperwork- discharge included." And with that, she breezed out of the room.

"Sherlock, common, time to get up and go home." The words hung in the air as the deeper meaning seeped in. 221B was no longer just their flat, but their home.

"They say home is where the heart is, and I now believe that. You are my heart John, and I'll always be home, so long as I'm with you. We could be living in Mycroft's mansion, or in the sewers for all I care, as long as your right by my side." Without waiting for a response, Sherlock pulled John back on the bed and enclosed the shorter man in his arms.

* * *

When Sherlock finally loosened his hold on him, John detached himself from the now tangled mass of limbs, and gently dislodged all of the tubes from the other mans arms. "Can we go home now, please?' John inquired with a gleam in his eye. All he wanted to do now, was slump down in his favourite chair and pretend that none of the bad things had happened. He just needed Sherlock with him, maybe a tea, and for things to go back to normal, well as normal as anything could be in flat 221B.


End file.
